Ana and Hana say goodbye to 2020 and ring in the ever so hopeful 2021. 2021 is greeted with further isolation due to the continuation of the pandemic which is not lost on Ana who is experiencing acute isolation and loneliness during the holidays. Not only is it the very first "pandemic holiday", it is also Ana's first holidays living alone and divorced. In a vulnerable reading, Ana shares a story she wrote on the evening of Christmas night while allowing the depths of grief to take hold. Hana discusses with Ana the importance of Ana's spiritual practice during the holiday season and how she may pass on her own traditions to her son.

Originally recorded on January 17, 2021.

The Loneliest Christmas

I have never been alone on Christmas. Until today. Christmas has always been an occasion where I allowed myself to experience joy, joy in the moment, joy in sensations and experiences, joy in the belief of magic. As a nonreligious but heavily spiritual person, Christmas has become a baffling holiday. My tree, the first one I ever cut and put up on my own, sits resplendent in green, white, and red lights, with hastily tucked presents in various stages of unwrap spilling from beneath. Yet I sit alone watching the cheerful electric glow feeling wave upon wave of nostalgia.

What is it that drew me to this holiday as a child? There were no passionate stories of baby Jesus told by my family other than the ones told in media, school, or books. My childhood holidays were plentiful but never glorified presents and getting. Instead, I searched for a certain resonance which I ached to find each year. I began to liken that ‘feeling’ to the heavy softness of a pink glowing snowy night. The kind I can stand in and feel every beat of my heart. 

With each passing year however, I grew older and began to lose my ability to feel that quality of awe and magic - like a relationship growing stale with disillusionment. When I held my newborn son in my arms, I fantasized of Christmas’ to come, of allowing him to experience that same joy and excitement that I once felt. And it is true, at nearly 6 years old he has found that wonder. He still believes in magic and the unknown, still freshly innocent from the skepticism of our modern society that is hell bent on cutting us off from that vital connection of flow and spirit. 

However, just as important as finding that intangible joy of holiday spirit, is experiencing that joy with others. How I dreamed of hosting Christmas at my home so I could perhaps hold that space of love and excitement for my loved ones. Children excitedly run about the house preparing for the arrival of a strange man. Telling stories to my family, sharing in laughter, food, and memories of Christmas past. And for a time, I had a glimpse of that. I played host. Filled stockings. Laid long tables in my living room for multitudes of guests and family. 

Tonight is different. This year is different. More people than ever are experiencing a lonely Christmas for perhaps the first time. Many more are coping with past and recent losses of loved ones, of lost lives, of people too faraway to share in the collective joy. 

I am not a victim. I do not pity myself or think I am in any way special in my solitude. I feel a deep, cavernous sorrow. A grief so heartbreaking it threatens to burst from the pain in my chest. The grief is not just my own and it is not just about this moment in time of lost and far away memories. I am living alone for the first time in my life - I chose to break away from what no longer held me, supported me, and nourished me. And I grieve, as much as if it wasn’t my own choice. 

As I allow the flood of emotions to rise and fall with my breath, I choose to explore questions I have - before tonight - never considered. How do I experience that purity of innocence, joy, and wonder every day - not just during an...

Hana brings her story of a potentially haunted toy to a close and feels the satisfaction and relief of resolving an open task, while treating her character with respect. She discusses the pitfalls of perfectionism with Ana, the experience of falling prey to the allure of procrastination, and the repeated lesson that putting things off never feels as good as finishing them. Finding methods to encourage accountability, breaking projects down into more-manageable pieces, reaching out to colleagues/podcast co-hosts for help - these are just some of the tools that Hana and Ana have developed and are still working on to make the work of writing achievable in their daily lives.

Originally recorded December 13, 2020.

A Discarded Toy

The day was waning, shadows from the trees long against the grass as the girl walked her dog down the lane. Though the leaves had barely begun to lose their green, there was a crispness to the air that hinted at harvest time, morning frost, and the need for sweaters. The dog ran slightly ahead, trotting toward the field in anticipation of the long expanse of grass to run through. Occasionally, she would stop to sniff at a plant here or a pile of dirt there, responding to cues that were invisible to the human senses. They approached the overgrown walkway leading to the field where the dog hesitated, waiting until her companion was with her before stepping into the shade cast by the trees overhead.

“You always stop at the same spot,” the girl said to the dog, reaching down to give a comforting scratch between her ears as she wondered out loud to herself, “Is there something you can sense here that I can’t?”

They continued down the path, the dog wandering from side to side until they reached the field, where the girl unclipped the leash and immediately the compact, furry body went flying across

the terrain in an ecstasy of joy and freedom. As she watched her faithful shadow run in widening circles around her, she felt a slight chill in the air, though no breeze ruffled the tall grasses around her. For a moment, everything seemed to pause slightly, as though the world were holding its breath. The sky darkened for a split second and all sound stopped, then everything started again, so quickly the girl thought she must have imagined it.

The dog came bounding over from where she had been investigating a shrub beloved by all the dogs of the neighborhood. Panting, she sat down expectantly and cocked her head to the side, waiting for the treat she knew was coming. The girl looked closely at her to see if she had noticed the same odd moment of stillness, but she seemed unaffected or, at least, wasn’t dwelling on it. Shaking her head to clear the fog, she reached into her pocket and held out her open palm to the waiting dog, who eagerly scarfed down the small knot of dried beef before turning around to head home.

The girl was walking down the tree-lined path behind the dog, lost in thought, when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise in response to being watched by someone. At the same moment, the dog stopped, dropped her head down, and began to growl softly, until the girl tugged on her harness to get her moving again. She looked around, but saw no one on the path in front or behind, nor were there any noises of people in the fields and yards hidden by the trees. Once they reached the end of the path where the pavement began, the feeling began to fade until just a faint sense of heaviness remained, echoed by the clouds that had rolled in during their walk back home. The dog relaxed out of the hunting position she had adopted, trotting cheerfully back to the house.

Walking to the field the next day, late in the afternoon, the girl had forgotten entirely about any strange occurrences from the previous day. The sun was hidden behind a veil of clouds and the air felt thick with cool humidity, the moment of calm before the torrent of rain....

Ana gets a confidence boost at work and Hana gives her high praise as Ana learns what her writing "jam" is - writing about nature connection and mentoring. Through Hana's praise and curiosity about the piece, Ana comes to the realization that she can easily and smoothly write clear and concise instructions about how to teach activities. Ana attributes this ease to her many years of teaching children in the method of "Coyote Mentoring" through her nonprofit she co-founded. Ana's writing mentor and colleague helps Ana discover her writing "blocks" by purchasing a book that is designed to help people with ADD type brains to write in logical and concise ways. Ana is floored by how simple it is to reroute and rewire her outline processes by following the simple steps outlined in the book.

Originally recorded December 13, 2020.

Hana continues to offer support and guidance for Ana's professional writing within her new position. In Episode 10 ...Finding its Voice, Ana speaks about her struggles with writing her first blog piece. Now, a month later, Ana realizes that many of her writing fears and struggles from college are rearing its ugly head. With the help of Ana's co-worker and team's editor, the two embark on a promising journey to help Ana overcome her inexperience with writing concise, informative pieces. While speaking with Hana, Ana reveals certain aspects of her brain and learning challenges that has come to light during this process. 

Originally recorded November 8, 2020.

Hana asks Ana for assistance after getting stuck halfway through her second scary story. Ana reads the excerpt aloud and the discussion goes into an exploration of anxiety, gaslighting, what it means to have mental health challenges, and how to write those aspects of a story responsibly. Ana helps Hana brainstorm some potential paths to end the story that hopefully avoid caricature, stereotyping, and other lazy but common tropes.

Originally recorded on November 8, 2020.

Written piece to follow in Episode 14, The Pen Is...Putting a Story to Bed

Ana has been gifted the opportunity to push her writing chops at her new job and is excited to share the process of writing her first professionally published piece. Ana's co-workers help her to work through some of her writing challenges around structure and concise language by guiding her to use her strengths in writing to showcase her passion for the Earth and sustainability. A personal triumph, Ana shares a real story that weaves her vision for connecting people to nature and boosts her writing confidence.

Originally recorded on October 11, 2020.

I sat tucked beneath the tree, my head resting on the pillow of her fibrous bark. Absently, my fingers had been twisting and wrapping the aromatic leaves of the sagebrush, each crush igniting fragrant oils into the air. My eyes gazed out across the vast stark white lakebed of the Alvord Desert. The air had begun to cool as the sun migrated closer to the mountains edge preparing for the freezing starlit night. It was here on my very first solo camping trip that I began to contemplate what it mean to ‘belong’ and to question why I felt so inextricably disconnected and foreign sitting upon the Earth. 

In times of trouble I am drawn to the plants. Over the past decade I had spent my life dedicating myself to the study, immersion, and teaching of plants and nature connection. I was attempting to bring some passion and interest back to children and adults who had grown up entirely disconnected from the deeper teachings of the natural world. The world however, didn’t seem to be ready for humans to remember this connection. I felt anger and frustration living in this society where collectively and routinely we are separate from our environment. A world that is fast paced, virtual, padded, and insulated from the natural processes and forces. A world where species are going extinct every minute and no one seems to be able to stop it. 

I abruptly got up and faltered, my body reminding me I had been sitting in one position for the better part of an hour. I looked around me to the company I kept in that moment, the sagebrush community. Silver grey shrubs littered the landscape punctuated by the brilliant purple of the various lupines blooming in the late April evening. These plants, this community belonged to one another and they needed each other to keep the delicate balance of life in this harsh ecosystem. An emotion bubbled up, envy! How could I possibly be envious of these plants? I stood there as witness, a European transplant high on my existential crisis in a land where the ancient Burns Paiute people lived (and the Burns Paiute Tribe live today) as an integral part of this ecosystem. I didn’t feel integral. I felt alien, removed, invasive, caustic. 

I wanted to cry and scream, throw my hands in the air and give up. It was in that moment that a sound had been penetrating my awareness, a screeching and calling. I stopped moving, instincts telling me to pay attention and look. My ears perked and noted the location of the calling birds. I crouched down all my senses alert, my feelings of despair forgotten. Pay attention! To the south the calling came from two black and white birds, long tailed and clearly agitated. The magpies were extremely unhappy about something and I was bound to find out what. I watched as they took turns flying up into a willow shrub then swooped down over sagebrush on the eastern side of the hill. Over and over they repeated the process but each time they flew over the sagebrush they moved further and further up the hill, as if following something. I quietly stalked closer, heart beating but breathing steady, moving at a pace that wouldn’t attract the alarming birds to my presence. Suddenly my peripheral vision caught movement, I focused in and noticed tan, brown, and white, moving quickly along the hill. As the creature came into view it showed itself as a large tailless mammal. A bobcat! She slinked...

First up, a correction: This episode talks about a fish with a light on its head that it uses to lure unsuspecting victims, but that fish is called a lanternfish here when it is in fact an anglerfish *facepalm*. Many sincere thanks to Hana's brother-in-law Cody for the correction AND the incredible artwork for this episode. (Check out @cpburke.nvartwork on Instagram for more of his artwork.) Hana shares a scary story she wrote based on her fear of the deepest, darkest recesses of the ocean. She and Ana discuss her writing process, beginning with the initial inspiration that shaped her tale and moving into how she refined the tone and why she made particular stylistic choices. Plus, the scary story author's ultimate fear: is my story scary enough?

Originally recorded on October 11, 2020.

The Lanternfish

Olivia wasn’t sure what first drew her eye to the girl on the veranda, but once she glanced over, the scarf drew her in. It was a beautiful goldenrod with a pattern of ruby-colored fish on it and it hugged the girl’s neck like a glowing, silky living thing. Olivia smiled slightly, the universal sign for opening a conversation with a stranger and the girl waved her in through the gate.

It was her first week in this new town and she was enjoying the solitude of her nightly walks, getting to know her neighbors at a distance, through brightly lit windows, before she’d start greeting them in person as a new librarian. As much as she enjoyed wandering through the stacks of books, breathing in the smell of paper and binding glue, she tolerated the need to interact with the public as a necessary part of her job, but not an attractive one.

She hesitated a moment with her hand on the gate knob, then turned it and walked into the long garden that led to the small house set back from the road in the embrace of a sea of weeping willows. Normally, approaching a stranger to strike up a conversation was something Olivia would do only under duress, but the girl looked so friendly and unthreatening. And there was something about her outfit that was magnetic. The jewel-toned scarf was the crowning piece, but her buttery yellow dress and crimson sweater were somehow both soft yet impeccably tailored, and her green pumps showed off her dainty feet.

“Good evening, it appears that you’re enjoying our uncommonly fine autumn weather as much as I.” The girl’s voice was bright and musical, none of the annoyingly chipper tones of the busybody mothers one found in a town this size, nor the wistful sighs of the other spinsters Olivia was lumped in with at community potlucks and town hall meetings. Yet it also sounded a bit...old-fashioned was the only word she could think of. Indeed, her style seemed a bit outdated, yet somehow timeless and classic. From a distance, Olivia had thought she was young, but from closer, she had almost an ageless appearance. A woman, not a girl.

“Yes, I always like to go for a stroll in the evenings as long as the weather permits. I’m Olivia, I’m new to town,” she said as she continued up the garden walk. A thought skittered across the back of her mind that the house itself was surprisingly shabby, especially in contrast to the vision of color and elegance the woman presents, but it all faded into the background, the house and the thought. Nearer the house, a refreshing whiff of sweet but salty air chased the mustiness of the evening away, reminding Olivia of her childhood summers by the sea. 

“Lovely to meet you, Olivia, I don’t receive many visits from neighbors so this is an undeniable treat! My name is Marina.” The woman stepped back to where she had been sitting and gestured to Olivia to join her. “May I get you something to drink? I’ve been savoring my nightly mug of tea now that the heat of summer has passed us by.”

When Olivia said that she would very much like some hot...

After exploring writing a piece that uses only dialogue in Episode 5, Hana pushes Ana even further by challenging her to write a fiction piece that mixes dialogue and expository text. Ana - ever ready for the challenge, finds herself writing an emotionally laden conversation between two people working through a tense exchange. Ana surprises herself with how easily she was able to work in some of her own experiences with allowing emotional acceptance and finds that dialogue doesn't have to be spoken to be heard.

Originally recorded on September 20, 2020

She sat down. It was an intentional sit. Slowly lowering herself to the cushioned chair, prim, poised, and ready. Her heart kept beat. A waltz. 1-2-3, 1-2-3. The steady rhythm calmed her. In her mind she imagined conductor’s hands, baton flying through the air holding pace, keeping steady, leading with ease while orchestrating the conversation at hand. 

Firmly seated, she raised her eyes across the room to him. There he sat eyes aglow. Waiting. For what? For the baton to drop? For the still air in the stifling room to suddenly shift, a ghost of a breeze wafting as if on cue to begin the inevitable? 

Her heart ached. Still pounding with the dance, counting, pulsing, whooshing blood in and out, up and down. He seemed so far away even if it was only several feet, it felt like miles. Miles of distance, untouchable. 

“I’m not afraid.” She stated. Only her lips moved, her eyes locked into his. He didn’t move or react. In his silence there seemed to be a placid allowing, as if he knew exactly what she was about to say and he agreed. 

He breathed in deeply, letting the breath expand his chest, his eyes not moving from hers. 

He spoke now after with the last few beats of exhale. “I might be.” 

She was not surprised by this response. His body posture gave the false impression of utter calm, yet his eyes shone with such intensity it seemed as if the emotion might burst forth in a flash of light and fear. Instinctively she wanted to reach out and touch his cheek as if to comfort a child. Her hand didn’t move. Nor did her body. The space between them had become far too great, far too expansive for such a singular journey. 

Sensing her inner conflict he offered reassurance. “I can hold this. I can bear it.”

“What if I can’t?” She asked, eyes near to tears. Her barely held back grief had begun to leak out, tearing at the seams with the pressure of holding in it. Holding it down. Keeping it close. “I’m scared I’m losing. Losing this game of pretending it’s all ok. I’m wavering.”

At this he smiled slightly. The smile spoke of understanding and immense love. He knew only too well that sense of slipping and of losing. It was his turn to feel the urge of bridging the echoing distance between them. To take her in and bring her gently to his heart so she could hear the waltz beating consistently within his own chest. The same rhythm. The same song. The same desire. 

After several measures he finally spoke. It came out in a heartbreaking whisper and floated towards her with fierce tenderness. Yet no words actually escaped his lips. It was the very essence of his meaning and emotion that transmitted instantly into her core and she knew without knowing the message he needed to send. 

A mutual acceptance filled their void and held the space within.